Chapter 6

The wall again. Daniel hadn't noticed before that it paralleled the horizon where the suns would rise and that the first light of day would pass through the Stargate to illuminate the face of the wall. At some point in the past, the aliens must've repositioned the 'Gate. The arrangement was too perfect to be coincidental.

She led him around the wall and to the 'Gate, and as if by some unspoken agreement, her people ranged themselves to one side while SG-1 and Doctor Fraiser took up positions on the other. One by one, Daniel met the gazes of each of his friends for an almost unbearable moment. He didn't need to be able to read their minds to know they were feeling the same thing he was – an awful, agonizingly hopeful ache.

He turned away from them and took his place at her side, this alien without a spoken or written name, only the essence of her being declaring who she was. Their backs were to the wall, the 'Gate in front of them, and the sky was beginning to show the first pale signs of dawn.

A thin, reedy whisper of a voice filtered into his mind. The words were Goa'uld, but the sound of the voice was so different from a Goa'uld's it may as well have been speaking another language entirely.

/Now is the time when I must choose my mate. A symbolic mating only. One to stand by me through the burning of the first rising sun and the shedding of blood until I am gone. Until new life begins. I would have that one be you. It is not a true choice since I do not know how to unbind you from me, but still I must ask./

He spoke his answer aloud – not trusting his mind to accurately convey what he wanted to say – but softly, to bring what gentleness he could to the harsh sound of the words. "It is a choice because you have asked. I would be honored."

/There is something else you must know. If you consent to stand with me, you must be the one to shed my blood./

The revelation should've been a shock. He should be wanting to refuse. But somehow he knew already, and knew it was all right. "Yes. I will stand with you. Tell me what to do.''

/You have not the strength of our hands. You must use that which makes your hand stronger./

She pointed towards his thigh, to the knife he had asked Jack for before they had departed their campsite, not consciously certain why he needed it – the knife Jack had given with hesitation, but without question.

He suppressed a shudder. No. He couldn't. Not like that.

But he had to. For her, to set her free. It was too late for her. No way to stop the suns from rising.

She drew her hand back, extended one finger and slowly pulled it across her shoulder, midway between the base of her neck and the first joint of her arm. /Here. Just after the sunlight touches me./

He swallowed, almost choked on dryness. He nodded. "I understand."

She reached out and laid her hand against his cheek as she had done by the fire. /Yes. I believe you do understand./

And then the edge of the first sun erupted from the horizon, sending red-gold rays of light stabbing out across the hills. Her body jerked and her hand pulled away.

/Screaming, weeping, wailing. Fire, searing through skin, tearing into muscle, bleeding into bone./

He gasped as sharp edges of pain sliced through the barrier she was trying to hold between herself and him. Trying to spare him the brunt of the agony. Alone in her suffering.

Alone, alone, always alone.

He could end it. He had given her his word. Her eyes were pleading, her limbs quivering as a madly twisting pattern of deep crimson swirled across her body, just under her skin.

Without thought, lightning quick, the knife was in his hand and lashing out towards her, ripping swiftly across her shoulder. The skin parted, peeling back, and a river was born. Life. Death. If only it were oblivion, the river of forgetfulness – Lethe. He didn't want to remember this, but he knew he always would.

/Light. So much light. Brilliant, blinding, so painful it was joy. Swelling, throbbing, until nothing was left but the light./

And then it was gone. She was gone. Her body crumpled, fell. No breath, no heartbeat. Abrupt silence. Emptiness in heart and mind.

A sickening sweet smell rose to his nostrils. Blood pooled around his feet, embracing her body, smeared across the fading luminescence of her skin. Light flashed across the still surface of a steaming lake of death, framing her face in stark counterpoint.

Two of her people came forward and gathered up the voided shell of what remained, reverently folding the lifeless limbs close to the motionless torso, then bore her through the throng of glistening bodies, full of motion, full of life. They reached out to touch the empty, lifeless husk of her, then in pairs they came forward to the wide, shallow depression in front of the Stargate. They dipped their hands into the liquid cupped there, then turned towards one another and carefully drew dark stains down the ridges on the sides of their heads and onto their shoulders, down to the point where he had drawn the knife across her shoulder. Fingers pressed hard, penetrated, and a tangle of scarlet blossomed, spread down their bodies, out into their limbs – an urgent infusion of transient fruitfulness. Like the floodwaters of the Nile, born in springtime fury, but bearing the alluvial soils of fertility. Enough to bring the next generation forth upon the land.

Then they turned towards the wall, side by side, one pair of arms twining together between them and the outer set of hands meeting to trace the shape of a glyph. Renewing the message, symbol by symbol. Reigniting the hope. Carrying on. As life always carried on, even in the face of death. In mated pairs, they departed, leaving this place of death behind and returning to the green and living world, to complete and celebrate their joining.

He was dimly aware of the touch of hands on his back and shoulders, of something being pulled from his numb fingers. He wanted to scream. He wanted to weep. He wanted to close his eyes and make it all go away. But he couldn't. It had happened, and it would never, ever go away.

There was a prick against his arm, a slight burning, a soft voice, and then he was alone in the silence of his mind.

When he opened his eyes again the next day, he was in the infirmary back at the SGC. Every muscle, bone, and joint in his body seemed to have its own dull ache, but his memory was surprisingly sharp and clear. Much too clear.

There was nothing he could've done to change it. By the time she had told him what was going to happen to her, it was too late. Her death was her choice, willingly accepted. He would have to accept it as well. He would choose to do so.

He wasted no time in insisting Janet release him from the infirmary. Physically, he was fine. Everything checked out. The scars were still there, but she told him they were only on the surface. If only that were true.

He also took the opportunity to ask her about the possibility of synthetically creating what the aliens needed to reproduce, so that no more of them would have to die to undo what the Goa'uld had done to them. Of course she'd already thought of that and had brought back a sample of the blood for analysis. She told him it might take time, but they would do their best.

As soon as he got dressed, he headed for the surface. Far too many halls and stairways and elevators. He felt a bit lightheaded when he finally made it. Just hunger. He'd get something to eat later. Right now, he needed to feel the earth under his feet and the sun and wind on his face.

He hiked a short distance from the base entrance, up a slope, far enough that he had a clear view of the mountains. It was just past noon, and there were only a few stray wisps of cloud in the sky. As perfect as a Colorado summer day could get. He sat on the ground in the sweet-smelling grass, wrapped his arms around his knees and closed his eyes. The warmth of the sun seeped into him, soothing the aches in his body, lulling his mind into a drowsiness devoid of thought.

He felt a slight compression of air that wasn't a natural breeze, opened his eyes and squinted up at Teal'c. "Hi."

"Hello, Daniel Jackson. It is good to see you 'up and around.'"

"It feels good to be up and around, Teal'c. Actually, it feels pretty good just to sit here, too." And not think. Not remember.

"May I join you?"

"Sure." He scooted over slightly even though there was plenty of room on the slope, and Teal'c settled himself on the ground in one fluid motion.

They sat together in silence for a few moments, and Daniel was just beginning to drift off again when Teal'c said, "There is something I would like to ask you, Daniel Jackson."

He reluctantly drew his attention back to the here and now. "Sure. Go ahead."

"This 'birth day' that humans celebrate. What does one do when one does not know the exact date of his birth?"

"You don't know when you were born?"

"Not precisely."

"But you know how old you are."

"Yes."

"So how do you figure your age?"

"All Jaffa count their years of life according to the anniversary of their Goa'uld master's first joining with a host."

"Oh. Well, I can see where you probably wouldn't want to count by that anymore. You could just pick a day, maybe one that has some kind of significance for you personally."

Teal'c was quiet for a moment. "Then my 'birthday' will be the day that I turned on Apophis. It was then that my life truly began."

Daniel nodded. "That's a good choice, Teal'c." He paused, did a quick calculation. "Wait a minute. That's today."

"It is indeed."

"Happy Birthday, Teal'c."

"Thank you, Daniel Jackson."

Daniel smiled and turned his face back to the sun. He would remember. He would choose to do so, willingly. He would always remember, and every year on the day she had died, no matter where he was, no matter what alien sun was rising over the horizon, he would sit and feel its warmth and think of her.

But when the sun in all his state
Illumed the eastern skies,
She passed through Glory's morning-gate,
And walked in Paradise.

– James Aldrich, A Death-Bed

The End