by Stargate
“I know,” he said. “I heard it. Time to gather the goats and chivvy them home to the village. I’ll take the ones with two legs, you can take the rest.”
A grudging smile quirked the boy’s lips. “Ha!”
We have to get them all out of here, Daniel decided, as he took Sallah’s hand and began to round up the scattered children. I really don’t care what Jack says. I don’t. I don’t. We cannot leave these people behind.
He didn’t know how, but he’d convince Jack of that if it was the last thing he did.
Chapter Thirteen
Daniel was just finishing up his rag-and-bucket ablutions in the communal bath-house when he heard the familiar, deadly sound of staff weapons discharging.
“Assemble, slaves!” a harsh voice shouted. “Hol’c commands an inspection!”
Cries of consternation echoed up and down the bath-house. Doors, banging. Feet, both bare and shod, running. A collection of roughspun shifts had been left hanging on rows of pegs outside the cubicles, for after bathing. Grabbing one that looked like it’d fit, Daniel hauled it over his head, shoved his feet back into his shoes, and joined the anxious flood of humans heading for the village centre.
Hol’c was there, with all his Jaffa. He ruled a garrison of twenty. As Jacob had said, not a large contingent… but then it didn’t need to be. Not when the humans were unarmed and long-since browbeaten into obedience and the Jaffa had staff weapons and zat guns and fire-brands to enforce their absolute unconquerable will.
Jostled and pressed into line, Daniel looked for Jack or Sam. Ah. There she was, with a group of other women. He shoved as close to her as he could get without drawing the wrong sort of attention to himself. She was dressed in clean clothes. Her hair was wet, and a line of soap bubbles was drying on her cheek. He risked a little wave; she saw him, and nodded, but didn’t wave back. She was closer to the Jaffa than he was, and therefore in more danger.
Where’s Jack? he mouthed at her.
She shrugged. Don’t know.
He kept on looking, fighting to see past heads and shoulders on every side. Then Hol’c shot his staff weapon into the air and the villagers’ low murmuring stopped as though guillotined. The twenty Jaffa formed a formidable line behind their leader, staff weapons at the ready.
“Come forth, Boaz!” Hol’c commanded. “Your god’s beloved servant would speak to you.”
In Daniel’s experience, Jaffa were bred for speed and skill and trainability, not generally for looks, but even amongst his own kind, not measured against the outrageous beauty of the slaves he guarded, Hol’c must have been counted ugly. Of middling height only—he’d barely reach Teal’c’s shoulder—he had too much muscle laid over a spindly frame. Small eyes, slitted with bad temper. Feral, like a rabid dog’s. His pallid skin was seamed and pocked as though from some disease his symbiote had struggled to vanquish. And there hung about him, like a marsh miasma, an air of power unbridled. Cruelty unchecked.
No wonder Sallah and the other children had whimpered at the mention of his name.
On the far side of the village centre the gathered slaves shuffled apart, and a moment later Boaz stepped clear. Trailing him was Mikah and behind Mikah—of course—was Jack. He was shirtless; his bare chest and arms were thickly smeared with dirt and blood and muck. He looked exhausted. Angry. Looked too as though he wanted to limp, and was fighting the urge. After four years Daniel knew to a hairsbreadth how much trouble Jack’s knee was giving him on any given day.
After ten hours toiling without cease in the fields, the knee was clearly misbehaving.
For a moment it seemed as though Mikah was going to face Hol’c alongside his father, but Jack’s fingers caught the boy’s shirt and held him fast. He bent down, whispering something. Mikah’s set face eased, just a fraction. He nodded. Jack loosened his grasp but kept his hand where it was.
Boaz reached Hol’c and flung himself to the ground. Kneeling, supporting himself on either side with his outstretched hands, he folded himself forward till his forehead was touching the dirt. Held himself there till his muscles were visibly quivering.
“Rise, slave,” said Hol’c.
Boaz unfolded himself and regained his feet. “Master Hol’c. How may I serve?”
Hol’c was shorter than Boaz, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for with menace. He unhooked the fire-brand from his belt and stroked it like a plucked flower down the side of Boaz’s face.
“Your get. Mikah. He has stolen from our god. From Yu, Mighty and Everlasting.”
A single tremor ran through Boaz’s body. His head jerked, as though instinct would have him turn to his son and self-preservation stopped him. “Master Hol’c?” His voice sounded sick, and pale.
“He was seen,” said Hol’c. “He took a corn cob from the shucking house.”
“It is my fault, Master Hol’c,” said Boaz. “I have failed to teach him proper reverence for our god.”
“Yes, Boaz,” said Hol’c. The fire-brand stopped stroking and came to rest in the hollow of Boaz’s throat, where sweat pooled and a pulse of fright beat in time with his frantic heart. “You have failed. But it’s your get that will pay the price.”
“Please, Master Hol’c,” whispered Boaz. Even so, his voice carried across the village centre. “Punish me.”
“No!” cried Mikah, and bolted forward before Jack could stop him. “I took the corn cob, Master Hol’c! I sinned against our god. Punish me!”
Hol’c swung his staff weapon, knocking Mikah hard to the ground. Daniel bit his tongue as he saw Jack react, arms reaching out to grab the boy. Then, incredibly, he stopped. Remembering, hopefully, that they couldn’t afford to blow their cover. Not when their Tok’ra communicators were back in Boaz’s house and they couldn’t call Jacob for an emergency ring-out.
Hol’c loomed over Boaz’s son. “Where is the corn you stole?”
Mikah’s hand crept inside his shirt and pulled out a stunted, withered cob of corn. “It has weevils, Master Hol’c,” he said, his eyes wide with trepidation. “It would’ve been thrown away. I wanted to make a doll. For Serena’s baby, the one that will come after Joseph has quickened her.”
Daniel looked at Sam. Saw that Jack was looking at her too, as though he’d always known where she was. Sam’s hand was pressed to her mouth and her eyes were horrified.
Hol’c leaned down and glared into Mikah’s scared white face. “Nothing is thrown away, slave boy. Weevilled corn goes to animal feed or fertilizes the fields. You stole from our god. Now pay the price.”
The fire-brand swung from Boaz’s throat to Mikah’s belly. Hol’c’s sure finger flipped the switch. And Mikah was screaming, screaming, scarlet fire bursting from his mouth and eyes. All around the village centre the gathered humans turned away, clutching at the other children old enough to gather with them. Some wailed. Some wept. Others cried out to the great golden statue, “Forgive us, god, forgive us, Yu!”
Boaz stared at his writhing son as though his life was over. Tears were pouring down his cheeks.
“Sonofabitch!” Jack shouted, and threw himself at Mikah, or Hol’c, it was hard to say which. Twenty Jaffa staff weapons hummed into life and swung towards him.
As one, Daniel and Sam shouted: “Joseph! No!”
Jack stopped, hands fisted and raised. “He’s just a kid,” he said over Mikah’s keening. “Leave him alone, you Jaffa bastard!”
Hol’c laughed. Jerked the fire-brand away from Mikah and planted it against Jack’s chest. Jack crashed to the ground, shuddering, convulsing. Hol’c laughed harder. Leaned on the fire-brand as though he wanted to press it through Jack’s flesh and bone and into the dirt beneath him.
Probably he did.
After an age he pulled it away and said, snarling, “You are valued by our god, Joseph. If you were not I would kill you now.” He turned to Boaz. “This one is punished for defiance. Your get is punished for theft.” He rammed the fire-brand into Boaz’s belly and watched him fall and writhe an
d scream for long moments, then pulled the instrument away. “And you are punished for letting it happen. Next time I will not be so lenient. Next time I will not let you live.”
Gasping, trembling, Boaz dragged himself to his knees. “Master Hol’c is merciful,” he choked. “I will not fail him or our god again.”
Hol’c raised the fire-brand above his head. “It is done. Finish your day, slaves, and remember what you have seen!”
As the gathered villagers began to withdraw, silent and shaken, Boaz looked at Jack. “What of this one, Master Hol’c?”
Hol’c spat. “Leave it where it lies.”
“And my get?”
Mikah was stirring, sniffling a little. One hand reached towards the sound of his father’s voice. Hol’c nudged him with a booted foot; not quite a kick, but almost.
“Take it with you.”
Hol’c and his Jaffa withdrew. As soon as it was safe, Daniel rushed to Boaz, who’d gathered Mikah in his arms and was holding him close.
“Boaz! Is he all right?”
Sam joined them, dropping to a crouch. “Boaz, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I had no idea he’d do something so foolish for me.”
Still kneeling, Boaz smoothed the tumbled hair from Mikah’s face. “It’s not your fault, Serena.”
Beside them Jack sprawled insensible. Sam pressed a hand to his face then looked at the charred mark on his chest. “Boaz…”
“You heard Hol’c,” said Boaz. “Joseph must stay here.”
“For how long?”
“Till he regains his senses and strength enough to crawl away.”
Daniel touched her arm. “It’s okay. I’ll stay with him.”
“No,” said Boaz. “It will be time for nightmeal soon. We must eat, then I must hear the day’s progress. This is how the god decrees I order our lives. I cannot disobey him and neither can you.”
“But Boaz, Joseph’s hurt,” Sam protested. “Because he—”
“No, Serena!” In a single swift movement Boaz stood, his son drowsy in his arms. For all he was smeared with filth, like Jack, and tear-tracks marred his perfectly sculpted cheeks, his authority was complete. “Mikah has bathed and dressed, and so have you. Take him to the meeting hall and wait there with the others until it’s time to eat. I must bathe and dress. You, David, must dress. In this village we do not eat unwashed, or clothed in our bath shifts. That is to show disrespect to the god.”
“A god who sanctions the torture of children,” Sam spat.
Boaz’s arms tightened. “Mikah was wrong. He is punished. It is over.”
Daniel bent down, took her by the elbow and made her stand. “Serena—we must respect the god,” he said sharply. Thinking, not you too, not you, don’t tell me I’m the only one who’s got his act together. “We must remember why we’re here!”
She flinched and pulled her arm free. He watched his words reach her, watched her gather her scattered emotions and use her strict military training to button them down tight. Her gaze flicked downwards once, to Jack, who was yet to move. Then she nodded. “I am corrected, David,” she said softly. “We must respect the god.”
Mikah was fully awake now. Boaz set him on his feet, hands bracing his shoulders till it was clear the boy could stand alone. “Mikah, you were wrong to take the corn cob.”
Beneath his golden tan, Mikah’s skin was pale. In his eyes, a shadow of pain. “Yes, Papa.”
“If I had discovered your theft I would have punished you. But Hol’c has punished you, and that is enough.” Boaz bent and retrieved the stolen corn cob and gave it back to his son. “Tomorrow morning you will feed this to the hogs, Mikah,” he said, his face stern. “Before five witnesses. Then you will return here—” He pointed to the golden statue. “—and you will kneel to the god three hours, forsaking firstmeal.”
“You said he’d been punished enough,” protested Sam.
“Kneeling to the god is not punishment,” said Boaz curtly. “It’s penance. The god will see him kneel. The god will feel his hunger. The god will know his heart is pure once more. Now go. Curjin will be ringing the bell very soon.”
Sam held out her hand. “Come on, Mikah,” she said, and smiled at the boy. “Let’s show everyone we’re still best friends.”
They started towards the meeting hall. Boaz said, abruptly, “Mikah. Who was it saw you take the corn cob?”
Mikah stopped and turned. “I think it was Jenc, Papa.”
Daniel saw some dark emotion flick across Boaz’s face. “Jenc. I see. Go on, Mikah.”
“Who’s Jenc?” he asked, as Sam led the boy away.
“A villager.”
No kidding. “An enemy?” he prompted.
“He wanted Mikah’s mother. The god gave her to me.”
“Oh,” he said. “Right. Say no more.”
“He did not have to tell Hol’c about the corn cob,” said Boaz. His voice was tight, his expression full of pain. “He could have taken it from Mikah and put it in the hog pile and warned me in private that Mikah had strayed.”
“But he wanted Mikah’s mother, so…”
Boaz pressed his fingers to his eyes for a moment, hard. Then he straightened his bowed shoulders. “Go dress yourself, David. And take a lesson from what has happened here today. Only your Lord Rebec saved Joseph from death. He might not save him again. And if Joseph should raise his voice to Hol’c a second time… then he is too stupid to save.”
On that note, Boaz headed for the bath-house.
Daniel glared after him. Wanted to shout, Stupid? Stupid? He tried to protect your son, you miserable ungrateful bastard, while you just knelt there and let that Jaffa burn him!
But he didn’t. There had been enough unwise actions taken today. Instead he dropped to one knee beside Jack, who still wasn’t stirring. The prolonged nerve-wracking assault of the fire-brand on top of a day’s back-breaking slog in the fields had wrung him out.
“Jack, Jack, what are we going to do with you?” he murmured. “Start following your own orders, will you? Or we’re all going to be in trouble.”
It killed him to leave Jack lying there, stinking and blood-smeared and flinching still, intermittently, from the fire-brand. But Boaz had spoken and must be obeyed.
He hurried back to the house, pulled off his bath-shift, pulled on fresh shirt and trousers… then stopped. Jack had said it was too dangerous for them to carry their Tok’ra communicators, but he was starting to think it was too dangerous not to. If this afternoon’s little disaster had really got out of hand, if it looked as though Hol’c was going to kill Jack…
He fished his communicator out of his bitty bag, shoved it deep in his trouser pocket and immediately felt better. Unlike Jack and Sam, he’d drawn no attention to himself and he had no plans to change that. He was the softy scribe who couldn’t be trusted with a knife, after all. The chances of Hol’c strip-searching him had to be slim to none. And with a communicator in his pocket he could probably save them all if things went bad again.
But he didn’t think he’d mention it to Jack. The mood Jack was in, he wouldn’t take kindly to contradiction. And he wouldn’t tell Sam, either. For all he knew she talked in her sleep.
Ha! Wait till he told Teal’c about that one. Jack and Sam, bunked in the same bed and ordered to procreate for the glory of Yu. Teal’c would laugh for a week…
God. I miss Teal’c.
He toyed with the idea of giving Jacob a quick call before going back to the meeting hall for nightmeal, but decided against it. That was Jack’s prerogative. No point stirring him up unnecessarily. When he finally came to he’d be pissed enough without anyone throwing fuel on the fire.
Daniel heard the front door open and bang shut. It was Boaz, returning to dress. When he was done they lit the house lamps and returned to the meeting hall together. They walked past Jack, still lying in the village centre, abandoned like road kill. Boaz didn’t even spare him a glance.
Bastard.
Daniel an
d Sam sat at different trestles this time, mingling with the villagers. Mikah sat with his father and some of the women from the babyhouse at the head trestle. The mood in the hall was subdued, appetites half-hearted. Last night there’d been laughter and joking and a swirling of energy beneath the high roof. Tonight voices were low, gestures circumspect. The older children at their special trestles stared at each other with frightened eyes. Their wide gazes skittered to Mikah and away again and they spoke to each other in whispers.
When the meal was over and the plates cleared away, Boaz rang his hand bell and called for the day’s accounting. One by one a villager from each task group stood and recited the work achieved that day for the glory of the god.
After hearing from the storehouse, the smithy, the slaughterhouse and the kiln-shop, a woman from the babyhouse rose to speak.
“All the babies and small children thrive,” she said. “The quickened women thrive. No births today. Perhaps tomorrow. Three children stood for the first time today. Five took their first steps. Four spoke their first words. New blood Serena joined us and shows promise, though she still has much to learn.”
“Thank you, Qualah,” said Boaz. “Your service honours the god. Who now speaks for the poultry-sheds?”
When it was Daniel’s turn he flicked a smile at Sallah, sitting with Baen and the others at their trestle. “Today we collected many stones from the goat pasture,” he told the attentive villagers. “Baen and Sallah helped free a goat that had tangled itself in brambles. Ochek, Tor and Bron stopped several snake holes and killed one snake. All the children worked hard for our god Yu, Mighty and Everlasting. I thank you, Boaz, for allowing me the chance to learn how I can best serve him. For a scribe has no purpose here… yet you have given me purpose.”
“Your service honours the god, David,” said Boaz. For the first time since he’d entered the hall, his face lost some of its tension. “You may sit. Lastly, we will hear the report from the shucking house.”
It seemed to Daniel that everyone held their breath. All eyes turned to one man, who slowly stood at the back of the hall and turned to face Boaz. His skin was a dark copper, his hair deep auburn.