Mirror, Mirror

by Sabine C. Bauer

  "Let's go to the market then." Teyla grinned. "It's been a long time since I've been trading. I'd like to know if I still remember how to do it."

  "Hate to break it to you, but you haven't got anything to trade."

  "I'll think of something."

  After a moment's deliberation, Ronon decided to stay in the cover of the trees and only cut across to the road further down. A lot further down. It forced them into a detour back toward the interior of the forest, but eventually, the trees thinned again and from below he could hear the rattle of wooden clogs on paving stone and the murmur of conversations. Fewer than fifteen feet beneath them ran the road, filled side to side with a throng of people, all bedraggled, all pushing toward town. The forest trail had handed them a shortcut.

  He snatched a fistful of Teyla's shirt, skidded down an embankment and onto the road in a small avalanche of mud and pebbles and twigs, and almost knocked into a burly mid dle-aged man who glared his suspicion from under the brim of a sodden hat. Several others who'd witnessed their entrance looked equally wary, and Ronon congratulated himself on not stopping at that farm. These folks weren't exactly the trusting kind.

  Jerking his chin at Teyla, he offered the first harmless sounding excuse that sprang to mind. "Wife's pregnant. Has to go every five minutes."

  Teyla pinched him, hard, and it was all he could do to choke back a yelp. "Why don't you shout it out, so everybody can hear about my private business?" she snapped.

  "She's moody, too," he muttered with a conspiratorial wink at the burly middle-aged glarer.

  The glare softened a little, but the guy still didn't offer anything in the way of chat. Head ducked between his shoulders against the rain that was still hammering down, Ronon took his cue from him and trudged on in silence, furtively scanning the people around him. Local fashions were so eclectic that he and Teyla hardly stood out. Made sense, too. In this climate you wore whatever was handy.

  After about an hour, his taciturn companion finally grunted, "Shame." The hand he waved in front of his eyes clarified the rest.

  "She was born that way," Ronon lied, shrugging. "Pretty enough, though."

  "Aye," grunted the man and slumped back into his reticence.

  Which proved that Ronon had given the appropriate answer, even if it earned him another pinch from his `wife.'

  At last the road emerged from the forest, offering a cloudmuffled vista of a broad river valley below. Smack in the middle, clamping the river like a vise, sat a surprisingly large city. Its center and probably the most ancient part was protected by heavy fortifications-well-maintained, as far as he could judge from the distance-and outside those walls stretched a vast sprawl of small houses. Obviously their residents were deemed expendable, else they'd be sheltered within walls as well. The only protection consisted of an earth levee that didn't look like it could hold back a cup of tea. In places the river was licking over the top already, and people were scurrying to pile up sandbags.

  As they drew closer, Ronon recognized the squalor. He'd seen it in the slums festering around the government district in the version ofAtlantis where he'd been exiled for more than ten years. The reek of poverty-a nauseating perfume of boiled cabbage, trash and raw sewage-bore down on the road, which bisected the suburb. Though built of stone, the houses were tiny and pockmarked by decay. Hunched in doorways that were shuttered only by strips of moldy fabric sat old people, staring in toothless curiosity. Children, wrapped in wet tatters and frozen blue, darted in and out of the throng pushing along the road, pickpocketing where they didn't beg. Above it all, like a lid to keep in the misery, hung a choking layer of brume, struggling up from countless chimneys only to be pushed back into the streets by the rain and the clouds.

  The flow of bodies heading along the road had swollen to a flood heavy enough to separate them from their travel companions and carry them off into complete and welcome anonymity. Teyla stayed in character anyway. The picture of the timid, pregnant wife, she huddled tighter against him. "I smell wood smoke and lots of it," she murmured under her breath. "If they originally built those ruins up in the mountains, their heating should be a little more advanced than that."

  She was right. And now that she'd mentioned it, Ronon realized that he'd seen no technology that even remotely approached that of the Ancients. Transport was basic to say the least; most people walked, though here and there he spotted men on horseback. Goods shuddered along either on the bent backs of their owners or in rough-hewn carts drawn by oxen. A quick glance through a window proved that artificial lighting was restricted to tapers and torches, cooking was done on open fires. Tools and weapons were just a hair shy of primitive-down one street he discovered a smithy complete with anvil and bellows.

  Before he could decide what to make of it, the procession ground to a halt, and people were being nudged into the backs of folks in front. Nobody complained or protested, so this had to be a normal occurrence. As they approached the outer ring of the fortifications at a snail's pace, Ronon understood what was going on; under the soaring arch of the city gate stood a detachment of soldiers, dressed in leather and polished steel. They'd closed off access, conducting some kind of headcount and only letting a trickle of people pass on into the city, though the criteria for admission remained a mystery. For a while it looked as though anyone carrying weapons would be turned away, but then Ronon saw three heavily armed men being waved through the gate and breathed a sigh of relief. The relief didn't last. By the time they'd shuffled their way to within five meters of the guards, he was able to spot the furtive transactions and knew what was happening.

  "Crap," he whispered to Teyla. "Looks like we have to bribe the soldiers to get in. Didn't you say you'd think of something to trade?"

  "Leave it to me."

  Two young men immediately in front of them were sent back, and then it was their turn. The commander of the detachment took in their appearance with a long, slow glance that betrayed a mix of disgust and boredom, decided that no backhanders would be forthcoming here either, and said, "Not you."

  "You are making a mistake." Teyla took a step forward, found the man's arm with surprising accuracy, and placed her hand on it.

  "I assure you, woman, it's no mistake. So let go of me," the soldier snarled. "Besides"-he raised his voice so the bystanders would hear-"what's the point of a attending an execution if you can't see it, huh?"

  The hopefuls waiting behind Ronon and Teyla dutifully broke into chuckles, pandering to the man's doubtful comedic talents to improve their chances. Ronon barely heard it.

  Execution?

  "That would be my problem." Teyla's voice had taken on a pitch and tone that startled even him. She wasn't talking loudly-nobody could overhear, except he and the watch commander-but her tone had a creepy, unearthly quality that perfectly matched the white irises trained on the soldier as though she could see him after all. "And believe me, it is far less grave than yours will be when your wife learns that you're in the habit of spending your bribes on a whore."

  "Witch!" The soldier jumped back as if her touch had burned him. His face had turned chalky, and though he was trying hard not to show his fear in front of his men, he couldn't hide the tremor of his hands. "Witch!" he hissed again. "Go! Go on. And you too! Take her out of here." He spat at Ronon's feet. "But beware, witch! If I see you again, I'll kill you."

  "I'll see you first," Teyla whispered. Her smile promised that, should this contingency come to pass, she'd turn him into a toad. Aloud she said, "Thank you so much, soldier. You are very kind."

  The man reeled back, terrified. Ronon grabbed Teyla and all but ran through the gate before the soldier could change his mind-or come to his senses.

  "How did you know?" asked Ronon as they rushed up a wide, cobbled street trying to put as much distance between themselves and the gate as quickly as possible. "Don't tell me you read his mind!"

  "I read his smell" Teyla grinned. "When a guy reeks of cheap perfume like that, there aren't very many options, are
there?"

  "I wouldn't know. But how could you tell he was married?"

  "Baby milk and home cooking." Her grin widened. "It couldn't have been more obvious."

  "If you say so." Stifling a laugh, Ronon pulled her around a corner and slowed his pace now that they were safely out of sight from the gate. "What made you think it would work?"

  "A society as primitive as this`? He was bound to be superstitious."

  The rationale struck Ronon as tenuous, but he didn't quibble. Checking out the neighborhood was more important. Compared to the shantytown outside the walls, this was definitely upscale. The streets were lined by palatial houses, fronted with porticos, soaring pillars, and flights of marble stairs leading up to doors of richly decorated bronze. Many stood open despite the weather, offering glimpses of sumptuous interiors, all gleaming gold and shimmering silk. Large, glowing braziers just outside the doors kept out the cold.

  Apparently those were an invitation for travelers to gather around and warm up. Each brazier was surrounded by at least three people, wet and disheveled and rubbing their hands over the heat. Ronon filed it away for further use. Dusk was falling now, an unspectacular thickening of the gray light, and unless Teyla managed to scare an innkeeper into offering them free accommodation, they'd be well advised to find themselves one of those braziers.

  In the street folks were still bustling, though the throng had thinned out markedly, a combination of admittance policies and the fact that the street was as wide as any square Ronon had ever seen. The sheer number of people made him doubt the wisdom of coming here. How were they supposed to find one man among the teeming masses? He'd expected the reasonable dimensions of a market town, nothing like this. And there was no guarantee that McKay had even made it through the gate... Well, if they didn't find him here, they could always return to the farm and try their luck there.

  Ronon shrugged it off and directed his attention back to the street. Pairs of soldiers strutted among the visitors, but they seemed to be routine patrols, keeping the peace rather than looking for a witch and her companion. Deciding that it was as safe as things got around here, he led Teyla back out into the flow of traffic, which was headed uphill toward a cluster of buildings that towered high above the city proper. At a guess, the main event was going to take place up there somewhere.

  As though she'd read his mind-a troubling thought-Teyla said, "You were wrong. It's not a market."

  "Does it matter?" he asked. "Still people, still gossip."

  "I expect it does matter to the person being executed."

  "Can't worry about him... or her."

  At last they reached the end of the road, as it were. Before them stretched a vast space, dotted with stalls closed up for the night. Ronon figured he'd found his market after all, though on a far grander scale than a farm boy from Sateda could ever have imagined. Three sides of the square were seamed by structures that dwarfed even the palaces further down the street-temples, most likely. The fourth side bordered on a gaping abyss whose bottom was swallowed by the shadows of nightfall. It separated the market from a vertical rock face beyond. Perched at the top of that sat a fortress, which gave the distinct impression that it was watching your every step and disapproving.

  "Cozy," grumbled Ronon.

  "What is?"

  I 'll tell you in a minute. Come on."

  Right at the edge of the chasm a clump of people had gathered, and they were craning their necks, staring up at the fortress. Ronon slotted himself and Teyla in between a couple of other spectators and squinted up in the direction they were gazing. Suspended from a battlement of the fortress and barely visible in the gray-in-gray gloom of the rock and a rain-logged evening hung a cage. He could just about make out a figure huddled inside. The condemned, he presumed, and there was little doubt about the form of execution.

  "Who'd have thought that there were any of those disciples of Ikaros left?" one of the bystanders mused. "You'd have thought they'd been rooted out good and proper."

  Disciples of Maros?

  As Ronon bit back his own gasp, he felt Teyla stiffen and squeezed her hand to stop her from blurting out anything that might blow their cover.

  By all accounts he confessed straightaway," somebody else offered. "Said he was a `scientist' and sounded right proud of it, too. Been sticking his nose in the forbidden place, they claim."

  The information solidified the sinking feeling in the pit of Ronon's stomach. He backed away from the gaggle of rubberneckers and pulled Teyla with him until they were well out of earshot.

  "Ronon!" she hissed. "Will you please tell me what's going on?"

  "They've got McKay." Ronon sent a last despondent look up at the cage. "And day after tomorrow he'll die."

  CHAPTER 18

  Charybdis +4

  lizabeth couldn't say when the cold and the relentless shaking had stopped, but stopped they had, and for the moment that was pretty much all she cared about.

  She was dry, for the first time in a century it seemed. Her chest still hurt, but the ache was bearable as long as she didn't move. A warm, bright flicker nearby punched glowing halo into the darkness around her. A campfire. Night had fallen, and somebody had built a campfire. Deliciously warm.

  She rolled onto her side and blinked at the flames and the sparks they sent hurtling into the dark. Without warning a pair of feet appeared between her and the fire. The feet were clad in the rough, chafing leather sandals she'd been wearing, the kind they'd begun making in the village a few months back and-

  The village and everyone connected to it was a threat now. Panicked, she tried to sit up, but a firm hand on her shoulder kept her down.

  "Easy," somebody said very gently. "Everything's alright. I'm not gonna hurt you."

  The voice belonged to Brother Star and he now squatted beside her, looking quite unthreatening, with a bowl with steaming hot, spicy smelling contents in the hand that wasn't pinning her down. But Star had been part of the gang who'd deposited them in the caves in the first place...

  "What are you doing here?" she croaked, startled at how hoarse she sounded. Probably from bringing up all that water, though that hardly mattered right now. "Where is Colonel Sheppard?"

  Star shifted aside to clear the view and jerked his head at a figure that lay curled up on the opposite side of the fire. "I know he's injured his head and shouldn't be sleeping," said Star. "But he was so exhausted he literally couldn't stand up straight anymore... and that was before he tried to take me on in a fight. Keeping him awake probably would have done more damage than this. I'll wake him in a little while. In the meantime, here. Eat."

  He handed her the bowl, threaded an arm under her neck, and helped her situp. Elizabeth figured she probably should ask what had prompted his change of heart, but she was too ravenous to think. Besides, exhaustion or no, John would never have allowed himself to fall asleep if he didn't trust Star. While she wolfed down the stew-fresh fish and potatoes-Star filled her in on what had happened.

  "I'm afraid we can't stay here much longer," he said at last. "I told the others I'd go hunting, so they know not to expect me back anytime soon, but it got dark about an hour ago, and if I don't return to the village, they'll come looking for me, which would be-"

  -a bad thing," she finished for him.

  "Yes." He nodded vigorously. "Especially with the weather."

  Elizabeth didn't need him to explain. The three of them and the campfire were sheltered by the sweeping branches of a giant cedar. Beyond its protection the ground was covered in at least a foot of snow, and more was falling steadily. She hadn't seen a speck of snow since finding herself marooned on this planet. Not to mention the fact that it was early summer. Supposedly. "Charybdis," she said.

  More nodding from Star. "I guess you can imagine what Brother Moon will make of it. If they find you alive now..." He didn't finish. He didn't have to. "I really don't like the idea of sneaking you into the village."

  "We'll do it fast and dirty," came a groggy voice
from the other side of the campfire. "I don't think I could manage slow and clean." John sat up unsteadily and squinted over at Elizabeth. "How're you doing?"

  "I should ask you that."

  "I'm fine. Headache's toned down some." Going by the Colonel's general appearance, it was a bald-faced lie. The only thing about him that looked fine-or normal at least-was that shock of black hair, which stood up every which way as usual and provided a startling contrast to his waxen face. "I've done some thinking," he announced.

  "About what?" asked Star.

  "Matrices."

  "Ah." Nothing else seemed to be forthcoming from John's end, so Star laid out his plan -such as it was. "I'm hoping that most of them will be asleep by the time we get there," he said. "And those who aren't asleep will be... you know..."

  "Stoned," grunted John, tugging at the coarsely woven shirt he was wearing; Star must have brought for him, same as the clothes Elizabeth had found herself in when she woke. She decided it was better for her peace of mind not to explore just how she'd gotten into those.

  "Yeah. The only thing we need to watch out for on the way is any search team they might have sent for me. Once we get there..." Star shrugged. "You two make a run for your ship, and I'll keep anyone who minds at bay. From then on out, you'd better listen to Elizabeth, Colonel. She'll be able to direct you to a hiding place at a safe distance from the village."

  "Not gonna happen, Star."

  The man blinked. "What do you mean?"

  "The one thing Elizabeth and I can't afford to do is hole up somewhere and wait till it all gets better, `cos it won't. Not unless we make it better, and that means going through the gate."

  "But it-"

  "Yes. I know. It doesn't work, and Brother Moon won't be volunteering for the trip." John scrunched his eyes shut, suggesting that even the dim light from the campfire was aggravating his headache. "I told you I've been thinking. More specifically, I've been thinking that we may not need the entire alternate to take us to the original."