Fic: Whisper of the Fallen: Chapter Two
Title: Whisper of the Fallen
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Malek, OC
Pairings: None
Category: Angst, Drama
Warnings: Death and torture.
Summary: Malek had several hosts through the years, but it was always a traumatic experience when one of his hosts was taken from him in a violent way. His newest host was somewhat different than most of his previous hots, but they came together under extraordinary circumstances so it was no wonder they would make an extraordinary team.
Rating: M
Prompt: 064. SG-1, Malek, I want to hear his backstory.
Notes: Italics indicate host/symbiote communication.
Chapter Two: Sticks and Stones
A bird was chirping happily outside the tiny, postage stamp sized window that was cut high into the ceiling of the cell as the morning dawned warm and bright.
Sebastian stirred on the dirty floor and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His body ached from lying on the stones and he was utterly miserable. Despite the nightmares, he wished that he could go back to sleep. He did not have to face the harsh reality of his situation while he was asleep.
He sat up and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small token that had once belonged to Ava. It was a broken bracelet that he had given her on their wedding night. She had never taken it off and it only came to be in his possession again when he had accidently snatched it off her wrist during the chaos as he tried desperately to hold onto her. It was little more than a physical manifestation of a memory now, and it was all that he had left of her.
He brought it to his lips and kissed it, cradling it against his cheek and wishing it were her. He would give anything, even his soul, to get her back. Barring that, he would sell his soul dearly to avenge her.
The sound of a door opening down the hall spurred him into motion. He shoved the bracelet deep into his pocket and stood to meet the guards.
“Looks like you’re already awake,” said the first Jaffa. “That’s too bad, I was looking forward to waking you myself.”
Sebastian could imagine what sort of torment that would have been. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he muttered, not sorry at all.
The second Jaffa unlocked the cell door and pointed his staff weapon at him. “Your God has summoned you.”
Sebastian allowed the Jaffa to led him through the complex, mentally mapping it out in his head again but to no avail. Instead of the receiving chamber that he had visited the day before, he was taken to a much larger room.
Massive stone pillars held up the vaulted ceiling and floor to ceiling windows with colorful curtains lined both sides of the room.
There was a series of stone steps that led to a dias where the Goa’uld, Khnum, self proclaimed God of Sebastian’s homeworld, sat upon an ornate throne. He wore a golden headdress and a flowing gold robe. His arms were laden with gold bangles and Sebastian was beginning to sense a tacky trend.
Andros, Khnum’s underling, was standing at the bottom of the dias. He wore a much less ornate robe and he watched Sebastian approach the throne with an amused expression on his face.
“Bow before your God,” Andros demanded.
Sebastian clenched his fists defiantly and straightened his spine until it was rigid with resistance. “I will not kneel before a false god.”
“Very well,” said Andros, nodding toward one of the Jaffa. “Then you shall kneel in pieces.”
The butt of the staff weapon came out of nowhere and connected with his temple. White lights popped in his vision but he had no time to react because the weapon came back around and slammed into his back. He felt a rib crack and he sunk to his knees, gasping for breathe.
Khmut propped his arms up on the edges of the chair, laced his fingers together, and rested his head on the backs of his hands. “You are the last king of this pathetic world, I have already killed the others. I shall soon end this ridiculous rebellion and assume full control of this world. You shall be executed on the next dawn. In the meantime, you have been brought here for my amusement.”
It did not take long for Sebastian to realize that Khmut was very sadistic and he took immense pleasure from the pain of others. The amusement that he spoke of came at the expense of Sebastian’s body.
The pain was nearly unbearable but he refused to give Khmut the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Khmut would have to kill him first because Sebastian would not allow him to break him.
He could hear his father's words, remnants of a long forgotten history lesson, echoing in his head. Our people are a proud people. Our enemies must kill us because they cannot break us. Our will is too strong.
He desperately wanted his father to be right and he bit the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood to keep from screaming when the whip cracked against his back again. He had lost count of how many lashes he had already endured but judging by the expression on Khmut’s face, the whipping was only the beginning of the horror.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, waving the Jaffa with the whip away. “Not painful enough for you? Don’t worry, I have more avenues of torture to explore. I will hear you scream before you die.”
Sebastian was yanked to his feet by his arms and drug across the floor to a table that had been cleared on his behalf. He was shackled to the table, each arm and leg chained to a table leg as he was splayed across it, face up. He had no idea what to expect but he braced himself for the worse.
Andros approached the table with a box of wooden matchsticks. His face was a mask of indecipherable emotions, but there was a glint of sympathy in his dark brown eyes that struck Sebastian as odd, but he did not have time to think about what it might have meant.
His shirt had been removed for the lashing so his chest and abdomen were exposed and vulnerable. Andros took one of the wooden matchsticks and held it over a bowl with a small fire until it lit. He placed it on Sebastian’s chest, burning the skin, until the match went out.
Sebastian bit down on his tongue and screwed his eyes shut. It was excrutiating. He nearly cried out but he had come too far to capitulate now. It was what Khmut wanted. He wanted him to scream and cry and beg for his life. He tried to think about something other than the pain, he tried to picture Ava's face, but all he could see was red.
Andros continued to light matches and put them out on Sebastian’s exposed flesh until there were no matches left in the box.
“I’m impressed,” he said. “You are the first who has endured this torture in silence. Most men break before the whip falls thrice, but your will is strong and will not be easily broken.”
“No matter,” said Khmut, smiling cruelly upon his golden throne. “We have many more surprises yet to come.”
Sebastian took a deep breath. His body was on fire with pain and he was not sure how much more agony he could endure.
Andros leaned down to unshackle him. “You should know that I do not wish to harm you,” he whispered so that only Sebastian could hear him. “You are one of the bravest humans I have ever seen. I do wish things could end differently.”
It was bizarre and he was not sure if it was a trick to lull him into a false sense to security, to make him think he had an ally among the wolves, and he choose to take his frustration out in the only way he could: he spit in Andros’s face.
Andros finished untying him and wiped the spit off his face without so much as a flinch. His expression was hard, but the pity was still present in his eyes.
Sebastian saw his opportunity as the Goa'uld turned his back on him, and he reached deep down, into reserves of energy and willpower than he did not know he possessed, and took his life into his own hands. He knew that if they killed him, which was entirely likely, they would merely revive him again because they intended to sacrifice him on the altar of pride the next day, but it would be well worth it if he took some of them with him or maimed them in some way. He would not go down quietly, it was not in his nature to just roll over and die.
As Andros, led him back across the room, Sebastian grabbed the dagger strapped on his belt and plunged it deep into his back, piercing a lung. The Goa’uld hit the floor with the cry of a wounded animal and the Jaffa moved in with their staff weapons raised.
Sebastian grabbed Andros and used him as a shield, forcing the Jaffa to shoot him instead. One of the Jaffa got too close, underestimating Sebastian’s resolve, and Sebastian grabbed the staff weapon. They played a short lived game of tug-of-war, which he won when he shoved Andros into the Jaffa.
He turned the staff weapon on the other Jaffa and blew a hole through his chest. The second Jaffa, having extricated himself from Andros, charged toward him but Sebastian blasted him with the staff weapon, too. He turned to shoot Khmut, but the Goa’uld had activated his hand device, shielding himself from any danger presented by the staff weapon.
Sebastian retrieved the dagger from Andros’s back and threw it as hard as he could at Khmut. Unlike the blast of a staff weapon, the shield was not impervious to the more primitive weapon. It soared through the shield and embedded itself in Khmut’s shoulder.
Khmut screamed and lowered his hand to grab his shoulder, leaving himself vulnerable to attack.
The blast from the staff weapon ripped through the Goa’uld’s chest, leaving a sucking chest wound. His eyes glowed briefly and then the light was extinguished.
Sebastian could hardly believe what had just happened, but he did not have time to dwell on his surprising victory. More Jaffa would come. He had to escape.
But his body betrayed him and he crumpled to the floor a few paces away from Andros who, against all odds, was still breathing.
All of Sebastian’s strength was gone. His will to live remained but it was not enough to propel him to his feet. He was wracked with agony and bleeding from so many wounds that he would probably die of blood loss before the rest of Khmut’s Jaffa arrived to finish him off.
“Sebastian.”
He glanced toward the prone body of Andros. “Why don’t you just die already?” he spat, more of a statement than a question.
Andros’s chest heaved from the effort it took to breath and blood bubbles foamed at the corner of his mouth. “I am dying,” he replied. “And so are you, but it does not have to end this way.”
“Shut up,” he replied. “I don’t want to hear your lies. Let me die in peace this one time.”
“Not lies,” he said laboriously. “Listen to me. My name is not Andros, it is Malek. I am not a Goa’uld, I am a Tok’ra. We oppose the Goa’uld in every way and we are dedicated to their downfall. I was sent her to infiltrate Khmut’s domain and ultimately bring about his death, but you have done that for me.”
Sebastian had heard of the Tok’ra before. Their name was whispered only in dark corners. If Andros was telling the truth, it would explain the strange things that Sebastian had noticed about him.
“How do I know you are telling the truth? How do I know you are really what you claim to be?”
Andros coughed up blood and closed his eyes. “You do not. You can only take my word for it. I know it is not much but it is all I have to offer you.”
“So what do you want from me?” Sebastian asked. “How can this end differently from the way it is now?”
“My host is dying,” he replied, his speech becoming more and more breathless. “I need a new host. I need you. We can escape this place together. There is nothing left for you here.”
Sebastian felt sick at the very thought of being a host, but Andros, no, Malek, was right about one thing: he had nothing left to lose and nothing left to live for. His body was bleeding, his heart was broken, and his soul was scarred beyond the point of healing. If he wanted to strike back at the Goa’uld, this was a means to that end. It was not something that he would ever have considered before, but it was something worth considering now. It almost felt like selling his soul, but had he not offered to sell his soul for a way to avenge his sweet Ava?
“What do I have to do?”
"Kiss me," said Andros, his voice faint and labored.
The answer shocked him, but if it was the easiest thing he would have to do that day then so be it. He summoned up what little strength remained, enough to move himself a few feet, and crawled across the floor. He put his mouth to Andros's and tried not to shiver in revulsion.
It was a strange sensation,like his throat was being ripped to pieces, and it left him reeling. He jerked backward and covered his mouth with his hand, wiping away blood, coughing painfully.
We have to get out of here, said a deeply flanged voice from inside his head.
Sebastian nearly jumped out of his skin. "What?" he asked out loud.
We must leave this place. You are weak but I can block some of your pain receptors and give you the strength to take us to the chappa'ai.
"You really are a Tok'ra, aren't you?"
Yes, replied Malek. You do not need to speak aloud. I can hear your thoughts.
Oh.
Quickly, we must make our escape before reinforcements arrive.
Sebastian climbed to his feet, surprised that he had the strength to do so. The pain had been greatly reduced but he could still feel its sting. He retrieved his shirt from the floor where the Jaffa had dropped it before the lashing commenced.
We must ensure that they cannot revive Khmut using the sarcophagus. Use the dagger.
Sensation approached the lifeless body of the Goa'uld cautiously, like a hunter approaching downed prey, afraid that it might still have a measure of life left, enough to do damage to him if he got too close, but Khmut was dead. He tore the dagger out of the Goa'uld's shoulder and plunged it hilt deep into his head several times. It was gruesome and he felt his stomach turn violently.
Run, said Malek urgently. There is a secret passageway behind the throne.
His heart was roaring in his ears and he left the knife embedded in Khmut’s temple as he staggered to his feet. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and fumbled for the latch that opened the passageway.
It was a hole that went down into the darkness.
Sebastian balked. Are you crazy? We can’t go down there. They will find us for sure.
It is the only way. Now go.
Fear gripped his heart but he climbed down the stone steps and shut the top behind him. It went down, down, down deep into the darkness. He slid his hand along the wall and chose he steps carefully. Finally, he found the bottom. There was a box of matchsticks sitting on a stone table and he lit one, his skin crawling with aversion to the fire.
The corridor was narrow, barely large enough for one man, and it was long and winding and he had nearly used the entire box of matches by the time he reached the end.
Where does that door lead? he asked as he stood staring at the heavy stone door uncertainly.
It leads outside, into the forest. The chappa’ai is not far away.
Sebastian felt his stomach drop. You mean the Bloodwood Forest?
Yes, I believe that is what your people call it.
He slammed his fist into the door. That forest is crawling with Jaffa! We would not get five paces outside the door before they cut us down. Not to mention all of the other unsavory things that call that damnable place home.
Malek was silent for what seemed like forever. Word of what has happened has probably not spread this far yet. Let me do all of the talking.
Sebastian felt a mental tug as Malek tried to take control of his body and he instinctively resisted. The thought of being a passenger in his own body, completely helpless and out of control, was a hard pill to swallow. What if he never gave it back?
I will give you control back, said Malek, reading his thoughts. But you must let me do this if we are to survive this day.
He felt the tug again and did not resist. It was an inexplicable feeling. His body moved without him. He could see and hear everything but he was merely a passenger along for the ride.
The forest was shrouded in a thick blanket of fog. It was said that there were things that lived in the Bloodwood Forest that were not natural. Animals who could change their shapes, spiders that could eat small animals, and, despite the relatively advanced nature of their planet, the pagans who live there and sacrificed the unlucky souls who happened to wander into their forest. It was always dark and shrouded in mystery.
Sebastian stayed alert to any sign of danger around them, but it was difficult because he could not turn his head the way he normally would.
Jaffa!
Malek ducked behind a large tree and peered around the undergrowth. There were five Jaffa guarding the clearing where the chappa’ai was located and they were on high alert. News had already spread that far.
We have to create a diversion, draw some of them away, Sebastian suggested.
Good idea, replied Malek. Do you have any recommendations?
Sebastian had never spent much time in the Bloodwoods, only hunting on the outskirts with his father when he was a boy, so he did not know them well. He did know that there was a river not far from the chappa’ai and a series of caves that were home to some of the pagans who lived in the forest.
If we can draw the pagans out into the open the Jaffa will have no choice but to fight them to keep their lives.
That is a good plan.
Sebastian wavered on his feet as Malek gave him control of his body without warning. He sucked in a deep breath, breathing the fresh clean air that was laden and fragrant with the scent of maple. He snuck around in the undergrowth until he was away from the clearing.
The best way to attract the attention of the pagans was to let them see him. They would give chase and he would led them right back to the Jaffa, seek shelter, and wait for the fighting to start. As soon as the Jaffa were distracted, he would activate the gate and escape. It was a good plan in theory, but there were a million different ways it could go atrociously, painfully wrong.
The caves were situated along the banks of the river. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how he looked at it, there were several pagans honing their archery skills on his side of the river.
The direct approach is always the best, right?
He leapt from the safety of the trees and waved his arms wildly above his head. “Hey! Hey you! Up here. Yeah, that’s right, here I am. Come and get me!”
They were faster than he had expected but the thing that worried him the most was the bows. They were deadly with them and he had to duck and dodge and swerve to keep them from getting a bead on him and putting an arrow through his back.
He heard an arrow whiz by his head and another one whizzed by his arm, snagging his shirt and drawing blood. It was only a scratch but it stung.
The clearing came up faster than he remembered and he dove into a thicket of thorns to try and disappear. The moment the Jaffa spotted the pagans they took up defensive postures. It was not a fair fight. The Jaffa had staff weapons and the pagans only had bows and arrows, they might as well have been throwing stones, but they outnumbered the Jaffa and the wave of pagans soon overwhelmed them.
Sebastian popped out of the thicket like a deer, bleeding and covered in thorns. The dialing device was a few paces away from the chappa’ai and he let Malek retake control of their shared body. When the event horizon sprang to life, he raced toward it, but an arrow caught him in the side and he went down hard, his knee slamming into the stone steps.
He struggled to his hands and knees and crawled toward salvation. With one final look back, he threw himself through the event horizon.
Chapter One
Epilogue
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Malek, OC
Pairings: None
Category: Angst, Drama
Warnings: Death and torture.
Summary: Malek had several hosts through the years, but it was always a traumatic experience when one of his hosts was taken from him in a violent way. His newest host was somewhat different than most of his previous hots, but they came together under extraordinary circumstances so it was no wonder they would make an extraordinary team.
Rating: M
Prompt: 064. SG-1, Malek, I want to hear his backstory.
Notes: Italics indicate host/symbiote communication.
Chapter Two: Sticks and Stones
A bird was chirping happily outside the tiny, postage stamp sized window that was cut high into the ceiling of the cell as the morning dawned warm and bright.
Sebastian stirred on the dirty floor and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His body ached from lying on the stones and he was utterly miserable. Despite the nightmares, he wished that he could go back to sleep. He did not have to face the harsh reality of his situation while he was asleep.
He sat up and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small token that had once belonged to Ava. It was a broken bracelet that he had given her on their wedding night. She had never taken it off and it only came to be in his possession again when he had accidently snatched it off her wrist during the chaos as he tried desperately to hold onto her. It was little more than a physical manifestation of a memory now, and it was all that he had left of her.
He brought it to his lips and kissed it, cradling it against his cheek and wishing it were her. He would give anything, even his soul, to get her back. Barring that, he would sell his soul dearly to avenge her.
The sound of a door opening down the hall spurred him into motion. He shoved the bracelet deep into his pocket and stood to meet the guards.
“Looks like you’re already awake,” said the first Jaffa. “That’s too bad, I was looking forward to waking you myself.”
Sebastian could imagine what sort of torment that would have been. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he muttered, not sorry at all.
The second Jaffa unlocked the cell door and pointed his staff weapon at him. “Your God has summoned you.”
Sebastian allowed the Jaffa to led him through the complex, mentally mapping it out in his head again but to no avail. Instead of the receiving chamber that he had visited the day before, he was taken to a much larger room.
Massive stone pillars held up the vaulted ceiling and floor to ceiling windows with colorful curtains lined both sides of the room.
There was a series of stone steps that led to a dias where the Goa’uld, Khnum, self proclaimed God of Sebastian’s homeworld, sat upon an ornate throne. He wore a golden headdress and a flowing gold robe. His arms were laden with gold bangles and Sebastian was beginning to sense a tacky trend.
Andros, Khnum’s underling, was standing at the bottom of the dias. He wore a much less ornate robe and he watched Sebastian approach the throne with an amused expression on his face.
“Bow before your God,” Andros demanded.
Sebastian clenched his fists defiantly and straightened his spine until it was rigid with resistance. “I will not kneel before a false god.”
“Very well,” said Andros, nodding toward one of the Jaffa. “Then you shall kneel in pieces.”
The butt of the staff weapon came out of nowhere and connected with his temple. White lights popped in his vision but he had no time to react because the weapon came back around and slammed into his back. He felt a rib crack and he sunk to his knees, gasping for breathe.
Khmut propped his arms up on the edges of the chair, laced his fingers together, and rested his head on the backs of his hands. “You are the last king of this pathetic world, I have already killed the others. I shall soon end this ridiculous rebellion and assume full control of this world. You shall be executed on the next dawn. In the meantime, you have been brought here for my amusement.”
It did not take long for Sebastian to realize that Khmut was very sadistic and he took immense pleasure from the pain of others. The amusement that he spoke of came at the expense of Sebastian’s body.
The pain was nearly unbearable but he refused to give Khmut the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Khmut would have to kill him first because Sebastian would not allow him to break him.
He could hear his father's words, remnants of a long forgotten history lesson, echoing in his head. Our people are a proud people. Our enemies must kill us because they cannot break us. Our will is too strong.
He desperately wanted his father to be right and he bit the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood to keep from screaming when the whip cracked against his back again. He had lost count of how many lashes he had already endured but judging by the expression on Khmut’s face, the whipping was only the beginning of the horror.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, waving the Jaffa with the whip away. “Not painful enough for you? Don’t worry, I have more avenues of torture to explore. I will hear you scream before you die.”
Sebastian was yanked to his feet by his arms and drug across the floor to a table that had been cleared on his behalf. He was shackled to the table, each arm and leg chained to a table leg as he was splayed across it, face up. He had no idea what to expect but he braced himself for the worse.
Andros approached the table with a box of wooden matchsticks. His face was a mask of indecipherable emotions, but there was a glint of sympathy in his dark brown eyes that struck Sebastian as odd, but he did not have time to think about what it might have meant.
His shirt had been removed for the lashing so his chest and abdomen were exposed and vulnerable. Andros took one of the wooden matchsticks and held it over a bowl with a small fire until it lit. He placed it on Sebastian’s chest, burning the skin, until the match went out.
Sebastian bit down on his tongue and screwed his eyes shut. It was excrutiating. He nearly cried out but he had come too far to capitulate now. It was what Khmut wanted. He wanted him to scream and cry and beg for his life. He tried to think about something other than the pain, he tried to picture Ava's face, but all he could see was red.
Andros continued to light matches and put them out on Sebastian’s exposed flesh until there were no matches left in the box.
“I’m impressed,” he said. “You are the first who has endured this torture in silence. Most men break before the whip falls thrice, but your will is strong and will not be easily broken.”
“No matter,” said Khmut, smiling cruelly upon his golden throne. “We have many more surprises yet to come.”
Sebastian took a deep breath. His body was on fire with pain and he was not sure how much more agony he could endure.
Andros leaned down to unshackle him. “You should know that I do not wish to harm you,” he whispered so that only Sebastian could hear him. “You are one of the bravest humans I have ever seen. I do wish things could end differently.”
It was bizarre and he was not sure if it was a trick to lull him into a false sense to security, to make him think he had an ally among the wolves, and he choose to take his frustration out in the only way he could: he spit in Andros’s face.
Andros finished untying him and wiped the spit off his face without so much as a flinch. His expression was hard, but the pity was still present in his eyes.
Sebastian saw his opportunity as the Goa'uld turned his back on him, and he reached deep down, into reserves of energy and willpower than he did not know he possessed, and took his life into his own hands. He knew that if they killed him, which was entirely likely, they would merely revive him again because they intended to sacrifice him on the altar of pride the next day, but it would be well worth it if he took some of them with him or maimed them in some way. He would not go down quietly, it was not in his nature to just roll over and die.
As Andros, led him back across the room, Sebastian grabbed the dagger strapped on his belt and plunged it deep into his back, piercing a lung. The Goa’uld hit the floor with the cry of a wounded animal and the Jaffa moved in with their staff weapons raised.
Sebastian grabbed Andros and used him as a shield, forcing the Jaffa to shoot him instead. One of the Jaffa got too close, underestimating Sebastian’s resolve, and Sebastian grabbed the staff weapon. They played a short lived game of tug-of-war, which he won when he shoved Andros into the Jaffa.
He turned the staff weapon on the other Jaffa and blew a hole through his chest. The second Jaffa, having extricated himself from Andros, charged toward him but Sebastian blasted him with the staff weapon, too. He turned to shoot Khmut, but the Goa’uld had activated his hand device, shielding himself from any danger presented by the staff weapon.
Sebastian retrieved the dagger from Andros’s back and threw it as hard as he could at Khmut. Unlike the blast of a staff weapon, the shield was not impervious to the more primitive weapon. It soared through the shield and embedded itself in Khmut’s shoulder.
Khmut screamed and lowered his hand to grab his shoulder, leaving himself vulnerable to attack.
The blast from the staff weapon ripped through the Goa’uld’s chest, leaving a sucking chest wound. His eyes glowed briefly and then the light was extinguished.
Sebastian could hardly believe what had just happened, but he did not have time to dwell on his surprising victory. More Jaffa would come. He had to escape.
But his body betrayed him and he crumpled to the floor a few paces away from Andros who, against all odds, was still breathing.
All of Sebastian’s strength was gone. His will to live remained but it was not enough to propel him to his feet. He was wracked with agony and bleeding from so many wounds that he would probably die of blood loss before the rest of Khmut’s Jaffa arrived to finish him off.
“Sebastian.”
He glanced toward the prone body of Andros. “Why don’t you just die already?” he spat, more of a statement than a question.
Andros’s chest heaved from the effort it took to breath and blood bubbles foamed at the corner of his mouth. “I am dying,” he replied. “And so are you, but it does not have to end this way.”
“Shut up,” he replied. “I don’t want to hear your lies. Let me die in peace this one time.”
“Not lies,” he said laboriously. “Listen to me. My name is not Andros, it is Malek. I am not a Goa’uld, I am a Tok’ra. We oppose the Goa’uld in every way and we are dedicated to their downfall. I was sent her to infiltrate Khmut’s domain and ultimately bring about his death, but you have done that for me.”
Sebastian had heard of the Tok’ra before. Their name was whispered only in dark corners. If Andros was telling the truth, it would explain the strange things that Sebastian had noticed about him.
“How do I know you are telling the truth? How do I know you are really what you claim to be?”
Andros coughed up blood and closed his eyes. “You do not. You can only take my word for it. I know it is not much but it is all I have to offer you.”
“So what do you want from me?” Sebastian asked. “How can this end differently from the way it is now?”
“My host is dying,” he replied, his speech becoming more and more breathless. “I need a new host. I need you. We can escape this place together. There is nothing left for you here.”
Sebastian felt sick at the very thought of being a host, but Andros, no, Malek, was right about one thing: he had nothing left to lose and nothing left to live for. His body was bleeding, his heart was broken, and his soul was scarred beyond the point of healing. If he wanted to strike back at the Goa’uld, this was a means to that end. It was not something that he would ever have considered before, but it was something worth considering now. It almost felt like selling his soul, but had he not offered to sell his soul for a way to avenge his sweet Ava?
“What do I have to do?”
"Kiss me," said Andros, his voice faint and labored.
The answer shocked him, but if it was the easiest thing he would have to do that day then so be it. He summoned up what little strength remained, enough to move himself a few feet, and crawled across the floor. He put his mouth to Andros's and tried not to shiver in revulsion.
It was a strange sensation,like his throat was being ripped to pieces, and it left him reeling. He jerked backward and covered his mouth with his hand, wiping away blood, coughing painfully.
We have to get out of here, said a deeply flanged voice from inside his head.
Sebastian nearly jumped out of his skin. "What?" he asked out loud.
We must leave this place. You are weak but I can block some of your pain receptors and give you the strength to take us to the chappa'ai.
"You really are a Tok'ra, aren't you?"
Yes, replied Malek. You do not need to speak aloud. I can hear your thoughts.
Oh.
Quickly, we must make our escape before reinforcements arrive.
Sebastian climbed to his feet, surprised that he had the strength to do so. The pain had been greatly reduced but he could still feel its sting. He retrieved his shirt from the floor where the Jaffa had dropped it before the lashing commenced.
We must ensure that they cannot revive Khmut using the sarcophagus. Use the dagger.
Sensation approached the lifeless body of the Goa'uld cautiously, like a hunter approaching downed prey, afraid that it might still have a measure of life left, enough to do damage to him if he got too close, but Khmut was dead. He tore the dagger out of the Goa'uld's shoulder and plunged it hilt deep into his head several times. It was gruesome and he felt his stomach turn violently.
Run, said Malek urgently. There is a secret passageway behind the throne.
His heart was roaring in his ears and he left the knife embedded in Khmut’s temple as he staggered to his feet. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and fumbled for the latch that opened the passageway.
It was a hole that went down into the darkness.
Sebastian balked. Are you crazy? We can’t go down there. They will find us for sure.
It is the only way. Now go.
Fear gripped his heart but he climbed down the stone steps and shut the top behind him. It went down, down, down deep into the darkness. He slid his hand along the wall and chose he steps carefully. Finally, he found the bottom. There was a box of matchsticks sitting on a stone table and he lit one, his skin crawling with aversion to the fire.
The corridor was narrow, barely large enough for one man, and it was long and winding and he had nearly used the entire box of matches by the time he reached the end.
Where does that door lead? he asked as he stood staring at the heavy stone door uncertainly.
It leads outside, into the forest. The chappa’ai is not far away.
Sebastian felt his stomach drop. You mean the Bloodwood Forest?
Yes, I believe that is what your people call it.
He slammed his fist into the door. That forest is crawling with Jaffa! We would not get five paces outside the door before they cut us down. Not to mention all of the other unsavory things that call that damnable place home.
Malek was silent for what seemed like forever. Word of what has happened has probably not spread this far yet. Let me do all of the talking.
Sebastian felt a mental tug as Malek tried to take control of his body and he instinctively resisted. The thought of being a passenger in his own body, completely helpless and out of control, was a hard pill to swallow. What if he never gave it back?
I will give you control back, said Malek, reading his thoughts. But you must let me do this if we are to survive this day.
He felt the tug again and did not resist. It was an inexplicable feeling. His body moved without him. He could see and hear everything but he was merely a passenger along for the ride.
The forest was shrouded in a thick blanket of fog. It was said that there were things that lived in the Bloodwood Forest that were not natural. Animals who could change their shapes, spiders that could eat small animals, and, despite the relatively advanced nature of their planet, the pagans who live there and sacrificed the unlucky souls who happened to wander into their forest. It was always dark and shrouded in mystery.
Sebastian stayed alert to any sign of danger around them, but it was difficult because he could not turn his head the way he normally would.
Jaffa!
Malek ducked behind a large tree and peered around the undergrowth. There were five Jaffa guarding the clearing where the chappa’ai was located and they were on high alert. News had already spread that far.
We have to create a diversion, draw some of them away, Sebastian suggested.
Good idea, replied Malek. Do you have any recommendations?
Sebastian had never spent much time in the Bloodwoods, only hunting on the outskirts with his father when he was a boy, so he did not know them well. He did know that there was a river not far from the chappa’ai and a series of caves that were home to some of the pagans who lived in the forest.
If we can draw the pagans out into the open the Jaffa will have no choice but to fight them to keep their lives.
That is a good plan.
Sebastian wavered on his feet as Malek gave him control of his body without warning. He sucked in a deep breath, breathing the fresh clean air that was laden and fragrant with the scent of maple. He snuck around in the undergrowth until he was away from the clearing.
The best way to attract the attention of the pagans was to let them see him. They would give chase and he would led them right back to the Jaffa, seek shelter, and wait for the fighting to start. As soon as the Jaffa were distracted, he would activate the gate and escape. It was a good plan in theory, but there were a million different ways it could go atrociously, painfully wrong.
The caves were situated along the banks of the river. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how he looked at it, there were several pagans honing their archery skills on his side of the river.
The direct approach is always the best, right?
He leapt from the safety of the trees and waved his arms wildly above his head. “Hey! Hey you! Up here. Yeah, that’s right, here I am. Come and get me!”
They were faster than he had expected but the thing that worried him the most was the bows. They were deadly with them and he had to duck and dodge and swerve to keep them from getting a bead on him and putting an arrow through his back.
He heard an arrow whiz by his head and another one whizzed by his arm, snagging his shirt and drawing blood. It was only a scratch but it stung.
The clearing came up faster than he remembered and he dove into a thicket of thorns to try and disappear. The moment the Jaffa spotted the pagans they took up defensive postures. It was not a fair fight. The Jaffa had staff weapons and the pagans only had bows and arrows, they might as well have been throwing stones, but they outnumbered the Jaffa and the wave of pagans soon overwhelmed them.
Sebastian popped out of the thicket like a deer, bleeding and covered in thorns. The dialing device was a few paces away from the chappa’ai and he let Malek retake control of their shared body. When the event horizon sprang to life, he raced toward it, but an arrow caught him in the side and he went down hard, his knee slamming into the stone steps.
He struggled to his hands and knees and crawled toward salvation. With one final look back, he threw himself through the event horizon.
Chapter One
Epilogue