The Chosen

Chapter Seventeen

“Stay here,” John ordered.

“We wish to fight!” declared Peryn. He led a contingent of around two dozen kids, mostly blacksmith’s apprentices but some as young as nine or ten who’d arrived in the transport just ahead of John. Between them, they’d cobbled together an eclectic collection of old axes, broken swords and chest armor made from battered metal plates.

“I need you here to help protect the village,” John replied, running to the entrance of the inn. When the kids followed him outside, he turned to face the oldest. “Okay, Peryn, here’s the deal. I don’t know for sure if we’ll be able to force all of the Wraith into Quickweed Lake. If it turns out that we can’t, we’re only going to be able to hold them off for so long before we have to fall back here. When that happens, we’ll need you to help operate the transport to the Citadel.”

Fingering the Shield around his neck, Peryn’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “I understand.”

John wasn’t entirely convinced that he did, but there was no time for a discussion. He needed to catch up with Teyla, Ushat and Yann’s group in the forest.

Adjusting his stride to a long, easy gait, he decided that at least it made a nice change from jogging around the piers on Atlantis — until he heard the sounds of distant fighting. What the hell? The Wraith shouldn’t have arrived that fast, unless… He swallowed a rush of dread and increased his pace. Unless the western flank of the Wraith forces double-timed it. Once again — crap.

A rocky outcrop blocked his direct path. On the far side, he could hear what sounded like heavy hand-to-hand combat. Turning north, he ran for several hundred yards toward a large clearing. The path veered east again just as he reached it. Good thing, too. Partially obscured by smoke, Quickweed Lake really did look like an open meadow.

Reaching the scene of the battle, John paused. The forest was a mass of clanking steel and bodies engaged in a form of combat not seen on Earth for half a millennium — unless he counted Middle Earth and battles against Sauron. Even with a trained eye, it was hard to get a handle on exactly what was happening. Sunlight glinted off steel pikes and axes as the Dalerans hacked into the writhing nets suspended from the trees. All around, as far as John could see, nets were descending from the branches onto the advancing Wraith. But considerably more Wraith were getting through and attacking the Dalerans without mercy. They weren’t taking captives; they were feeding.

John raised his weapon when he sighted a masked Wraith leaning over someone. The guy’s breastplate had been torn off, and the Wraith lifted a hand to bury it in his victim’s chest. Carefully taking aim, John sent a short burst into the stringyhaired head.

Something abruptly pushed him aside, simultaneously wrenching the P-90 from his grasp. He was slammed back into a tree, but recovered in time to parry the incoming elbow, knocking the mask from a super-size Wraith with tangled gray dreadlocks. Its lips parted to display an orthodontist’s nightmare. Barely dodging a second punch to his head and a third to his hip, it came as no surprise to John that the thing was employing the same fighting technique as Teyla.

Acting on instinct, he lunged out to recover his weapon. Blow after blow came swift and heavy, and he was reminded of Teyla’s warning. He had to conserve his strength. There were a dozen more Wraith where this one came from, all anxious to literally take his life.

Without warning, he was yanked backward by his vest and thrown to the ground, where the stock of his P-90 dug into his ribs. A hand descending toward his chest was interrupted when a nearby explosion knocked his attacker off its feet. A rain of Wraith chunks and armor followed. Mortally wounded, the things were blowing themselves — and their Daleran attackers — to pieces. Which meant that winning the fight against them could prove to be just as fatal as losing.

John barely had time to look up before another Wraith was on him. He ducked the armor-covered hand swinging toward his head and brought the gun up to block the next set of flashing claws. If they got out of this, he owed Teyla an apology and a promise never to avoid a sparring session again, masculine pride be damned.

The business end of an axe head suddenly appeared from inside the chest of his opponent, damaging the self-destruct mechanism. More enraged than shocked, the Wraith twisted around to face its new adversary. John caught a brief flash of Yann’s determined face before a second blade swung from a new direction, taking the Wraith’s head clean off.

Behind the collapsing Wraith, John saw Ushat. He opened his mouth to say thanks, but somewhere to his left, another small explosion was followed by a third, and then a fourth. Shifting his grip on his P-90, John reached for the knife strapped to his belt. The force of the next explosion hit him in the back, and sent him flying — directly into the path of a snarling Wraith.

“I’m just saying that we’ll need to make the holes bigger.”

Rodney tossed a haughty look in Ford’s direction. “I’m well aware that altering the shape of C-4 will somewhat reduce its explosive potential, Lieutenant. I’ve forgotten more about blowing things up than you’ll ever know. And since I don’t normally forget anything of crucial importance—”

“Okay, okay!” Ford replied in exasperation.

It still struck Rodney as remarkable how linear most members of the military were in their thinking. Slap a block of C-4 on something, shove a J-2 cap in it, and bang. Yet, placed properly, even with the slightly reduced explosive potential that came as a result of flattening out the C-4, the damage effected could be significantly greater when using the explosive in exactly the right location — like the deep fractures of the shale cliff. “My entire reasoning for placing it here,” Rodney explained with what he thought was an undue degree of patience, “is to avoid igniting the oil.”

“I thought you had no idea how long the oil would flow?”

“Precisely. Which is why I want a radio controlled detonation. The lookouts on West Bridge can observe Black Hill. If the oil flow declines significantly, it will be impossible for the fire to sustain itself. The lookouts can signal us. We come back here, I hand you my Shield, we wait for our Wraith friends to notice, and…kaboom.”

A blur of motion caught Teyla’s eye, and she swung around with her fighting staves. This time, she was fortunate, for the attacking Wraith was badly burned and did not appear to be regenerating as it should. And yet that very fact seemed to feed its desperation.

Teyla had been pacing herself, accepting each blow that she could not deflect, and retaliating in moves that were as familiar to her as breathing. Still, the battle was not going well. There were simply too many Wraith entering the forest. Either she had underestimated their numbers, or the villages across Quickweed Lake were not providing sufficient enticement for the remainder of their adversary’s forces to head in that direction.

All of the nets had now been used, and while countless Wraith lay dead, many Dalerans had also fallen. The increasing number of nearby explosions left the defenders with no choice. They would have to fall back to the transport village, escape into the Citadel and ignite the remainder of North Channel — but not until she vanquished the creature before her.

Eyes blazing, a foul stench coming from the burned flesh across its mouth, her opponent abruptly changed tactics and lunged at her — only to be jerked off balance by Major Sheppard, who had been thrown against it by the force of a nearby explosion. He recovered in time to grasp a fistful of the Wraith’s remaining locks of hair and dispatch the creature with a knife.

“Fall back!” Sheppard yelled. “Fall back to the transport!”

The horn blew. The answering call did not respond for several seconds. When it came, it was weak, as if the bugler were injured. As well he might be. The defending Daleran forces were stretched thinly across the ground between Quickweed Lake and North Bridge. There was no way to say for certain how many had succumbed.

A gust of wind through the trees brushed away the smoke, and it seemed to Teyla that the forest moved with a seething carpet of Wraith. Behind her, Major Sheppard uttered a low curse. She glanced around. The fight had somehow driven the defenders back to where the edges of the lake curved south. Their path to the village was now cut off.

“Give the signal,” Ushat told the bugler. “Order the Genes at the transport not to wait for us.”

“What?” Yann demanded, looking around at the exhausted and bloodied combatants with them. “You would sacrifice us?”

“No,” Major Sheppard replied even as he ran along the edge of the lake. “He’s trying not to sacrifice everyone else. Besides, we’re not done for yet.”

“And you shall not be,” came a voice from behind a stand of trees. A tall boy with fair hair and cheeks still bearing the pink flush of youth led a group of children out to meet them.

“Peryn!” Sheppard’s voice was filled with surprise, and frustration. “I’m pretty sure I told you to wait in the village.”

“Then who would lead you to the villages on the far side of Quickweed Lake?” The youth looked northwest, across the stretch of strange green and yellow growth that carpeted the black tarpit.

“Madness!” spat Yann.

The Wraith had spied their group, and, almost as one, turned in their direction. “Or death,” Teyla declared, pointing to the advancing foe.

Peryn’s expression reminded Teyla of the look she sometimes saw in Major Sheppard’s eyes. “Follow me,” the youth vowed, “and I shall lead you to safety.”

The other children quickly cast aside their weapons, removed their armor and ran light-footed onto the lake. The older boy glanced back at the adults. “Caution. Tread in my steps, and my steps alone.”

Without hesitation, Teyla followed him. The ground was soft beneath her feet, but it did not give much. She heard Major Sheppard behind her.

Ushat’s voice came from the shore. “What of the other children? Will they not fall into the slow death of black mud?”

Teyla glanced back. Like Yann and the other men, the guards-man had not moved, but instead eyed the children suspiciously.

“Follow my path alone,” Peryn replied, and increased his pace, moving surefooted across the strange, spongy ground.

“I would sooner die a quick death at the hands of the Wraith than flounder in the bowels of Quickweed,” declared one man.

Glancing past his shoulder, Teyla answered, “Then you shall soon have your wish.” She turned her attention to her feet.

Yann, Ushat and the bugler joined them on their path across the strange-smelling place. The remaining three took a moment longer before they, too, decided that a sure death was less attractive than a possible one after all.

“Some of this stuff is solid,” observed the Major. “How can you tell?”

“The color of the weeds,” Teyla realized, catching up with Peryn.

The boy shot her a surprisingly adult grin. “Only those of us who live by Quickweed Lake know its secrets.” The grin faded and he added, “Do not think you know the way, for the weed changes color as the sun moves west, tricking the foolhardy into paths that lead to a slow death.”

“I understand. But what of the others?” Teyla glanced around at the children, all of whom were running lightly across different sections of the lake’s surface.

“That’s why they stripped off their armor. To lighten themselves.” The Major glanced back at the Wraith.

Teyla followed his gaze. “They hesitate.”

“Just as you planned, many Wraith have died or are still dying at the hands of Quickweed.” Peryn paused so that the others could catch up.

“How is it that you know this?”

He snorted and pointed to the turgid gray veil smothering much of the southeastern edge of the tarpit. “We cut across part of the lake to join you. The smoke cleared in sections, and we saw.”

“So the plan worked,” Sheppard said. “There were just more of ‘em coming our way than we’d banked on.”

“And now they come after us,” called one of the men. “Look!”

Behind them, the Wraith stepped cautiously out onto the lichen-covered tar. The children closest to them began to scream, but Teyla could see that their cries were for show, enticing the Wraith to an easy meal.

“We must hurry.” Peryn motioned them forward, encouraging them.

“Next time I give you an order, Peryn,” Major Sheppard said, “feel free to disobey me.”

Teyla smiled. The youth had indeed the instincts of a warrior, and a leader. It pleased her to see that he was one of the Genes.

“You have done a great duty, young one.” Ushat voiced his approval. Another series of sounds traveled from the Citadel. “A warning,” he said. “They are about to set that section of the channel aflame.”

“Wraith must’ve reached them.” Sheppard squinted in the direction of the Citadel. “That means we’re about to get hit with a blanket of smoke.”

It was then that Teyla realized the sun was well past its zenith. “And soon, the Citadel will cast its shadow across us,” she observed.

“Then we must indeed make haste.” Peryn again picked up his pace.

The Major cast a worried glance at the sky, then shot her a doubtful look. “Why would the Wraith continue with the ground assault? They must know by now that—”

A panicked cry came from behind. One of the men had taken a wrong step and had fallen into a softer section of the lake. Behind him, the Wraith had foregone their fears and were bearing down upon them at great speed.

“Leave him!” squealed a second man. “The Wraith come.”

Sheppard turned back, and Teyla remembered his words: leave no one behind.

Yann and Ushat also ran back to assist. “It is Dalera’s will that all must be saved, with favor to none,” Ushat barked. “Help him!”

One of the terrified men ignored him, and darted ahead of Peryn, intent on reaching the forest on the far shore.

By the time they had helped the first man back onto the path, the leading Wraith were in trouble. The children danced around them, just out of reach, goading the Wraith to catch them. Enraged, many continued in their attempt to lunge through the sticky black tar. Others, realizing their folly, began to make their way back. Teyla suspected it was too late.

The man who had gone ahead was nowhere to be seen. “He fell,” called one of the children. “Over there.” She pointed to a large patch of emerald green, slurping around like a living thing. Of the man, there was no sign.

“Watch your footing, now,” warned Peryn. “This is the most dangerous section of Quickweed.”

All of the children gathered together to form a line between the adults. Teyla did not look back as the enraged cries of the Wraith continued. Then a different sound came from the Citadel. Although they could not see through the trees to the base of the fortress, they could see a vast line of flames shooting upward.

“The weir at North Bridge has been lowered,” Yann said. “Allowing the flames to travel upstream.”

Peryn said nothing, but continued to drive the pace. Teyla watched his gaze darting from side to side, seeking the correct path. The shore was close, but the smoke from the new blaze was already rushing toward them. “Perhaps if the path becomes too difficult to see, we should wait and tread more slowly,” she suggested.

“No.” Peryn shook his head. “You do not understand. This part of the Lake cannot sustain the weight of even a child for more than a few minutes. We must keep moving, or we will sink.”

Ushat cursed. “Too late!”

Turning back, Teyla saw the big warrior up to his knees in tar. Then a thick pillar of smoke hit, and he was lost from view.

“You left Major Sheppard and Teyla behind?” Aiden stared in disbelief at the bloody-faced Gene. The man had been with the last group to escape the failed ambush at Quickweed Lake.

“We had no choice. The order was given. I was barely able to close the transport doors against the Wraith. They were swarming in…” His face crumpled. “My brother fell just moments earlier, defending the entrance of the inn to give the last of us time to escape. Do you not think I would have gone back for him had I believed there was any hope?” His words were filled with bitter remorse, and he pushed aside Lisera’s sympathetic hand.

Aiden glanced at McKay, but the scientist had already moved to stand by the chart table. Several of the town’s engineers had transferred most of the maps and supplies into the Station where Lisera was ensconced. The once palatial living chambers had been turned into a new and more readily defensible Command Center. As the highest point in the city now that the Enclave had been destroyed, it also allowed them occasional glances through the wall of smoke blanketing the entire length of North Channel.

This, the largest room on the second level, was currently occupied by about twenty people, mostly engineers, blacksmiths, and upper level bureaucrats who had a good knowledge of the Citadel’s layout, plus a few whose wounds were being tended by Lisera.

“What about the villages on the northwestern shore of the Lake?” Aiden demanded. He knew he was grasping at straws, but he was not ready to accept the fact that the rest of his team, and Ushat and Yann, had succumbed to the Wraith during the failed ambush.

The Gene shook his head. “The last anyone saw of them, your friends had their backs to Quickweed, and the Wraith were advancing on them.”

A roll of bandages fell to the floor, and Lisera burst into tears. Aiden picked it up for her. Biting back a sob, she accepted it. “Please, Aiden, you must not die, too.”

“I don’t intend to. But I’m not staying here while the rest of my team is out there.”

Swinging around to face the men, McKay asked, “Exactly how solid is the tar?” He shook his head and corrected himself. “The surface of Quickweed Lake?”

The Gene whom Lisera had been tending replied, “Those of us who harvest the pitch from the Lake know where to tread. While most of Quickweed is deadly and will consume a person before he even has a chance to cry out, many places will support the weight of a man. Finding a path across is all but impossible. Still,” he mused, “the children who grow up in the villages know its secrets. They often traverse the Lake to collect special plants to trade with the apothecaries.”

The scientist’s eyes met Aiden’s. Swallowing once, Aiden nodded determinedly. McKay had managed to survive a culling. Teyla and the Major were two of the most resourceful people he’d ever known.

McKay snatched up his pack while Aiden checked his weapon. “Where are you going?” Lisera pleaded when they made for the door.

“To find our…friends,” McKay replied. He seemed almost surprised at the unfamiliar use of the last word.

“Quickweed Lake will not easily give up her secrets!” called someone as they ran down the stairs.

“Then we might be gone for a while,” Aiden shot back.

“Take off your armor and get rid of your weapons.” John carefully retraced his steps toward Ushat’s voice.

“Leave me,” the warrior replied gruffly. He had already sunk to his chest.

“No one gets left behind!” Yann snapped in response.

John could hear the anxiety in the merchant’s voice. The smoke cleared momentarily, but more was coming. “Take the children ashore,” he ordered Peryn. “We’ll follow.”

Distress was clearly written on the kid’s face. “You will not be able to find the path.”

“Yes, we will.” Teyla pointed to the indentations left in the soft tar. “Now go.” She ran across to the warrior, tugging her pack off as she went.

The thing of it was, Ushat was right. The warrior was sinking faster than John could have imagined. By the time they were in a position to help, Ushat was up to his neck.

“No!” Yann cried in denial. Moving around, desperate to save the man who had turned from adversary to friend, he stepped out into the tar, but the bugler and the guy they’d rescued earlier restrained him.

Teyla had pulled a rope from her pack, but it was too late.

“Thank you for saving my people, Major John Sheppard of Atlantis.” Ushat smiled, then closed his eyes and slipped beneath the black.

In the split-second he could afford to spend on sorrow, John thought, I hope to God that turns out to be true.

“No!” Yann screamed again, lunging toward the bubbles that erupted from the pool.

Teyla grasped his arm. “Honor his death by living!”

After a moment, the blinding anguish began to clear from his eyes, and the merchant nodded dumbly. She quickly turned to retrace their steps.

More coils of smoke reached across them. John was not immune to the shock of losing Ushat, but Teyla was right. The smoke was approaching thick and fast now. So was the afternoon shadow cast by the Citadel.

“This way.” Peryn appeared from within the smoke, and waved them on.

Apparently taking the other children ashore hadn’t necessarily implied staying there. “Why do I even bother trying to tell you what to do?” John called. But he was having his own problems. Every step, his foot sank deeper, and each time, it was harder to withdraw.

“Close now,” shouted the children, lined up along the shore.

John looked up, and saw the shapes of trees through the smoke. That was a mistake, because his next step plunged him into the tar pit.

“This doesn’t look good,” McKay declared when they ran out of the inn of the second village they’d checked. “Major?” he called into the choking black smoke. “Would you do us the favor of letting us know that you’re not dead yet?”

“Will you keep your voice down?” Aiden barked. “If there are any Wraith around—”

“They’ll be as blind as we are.” McKay coughed. “God, this stuff is noxious!”

Aiden rubbed his eyes against the oily smoke. He hated to admit it, but their only chance of locating the Major and Teyla was to make as much noise as possible. “Call them,” he said to the bugler who’d volunteered to accompany them.

The sound had barely finished when a kid of about nine, partially covered in black goop, ran up the slope. Passing an odd contraption that consisted of a frame, buckets half filled with tar, ropes and pulley blocks, he called, “This way. Help us!” His young features were twisted in fear.

“Oh, that’s nice,” McKay grumbled, bringing up the rear. “Oil and children.”

Ignoring him, Aiden ran after the boy. His relief at seeing Teyla was momentary because she and a bunch of guys, including Yann, were pulling on a thick rope. A short distance away, obscured by smoke, was a figure buried up to his waist. “Major!” Aiden handed his weapon to McKay and ran down to help them.

Face pinched in concentration, eyes reddening in the smoke, McKay declared, “That’s not going to get him anywhere.” Removing his pack, he instructed Yann to toss Sheppard a second rope, and then disappeared for a few moments. When he came back, he was carrying something in his hand. McKay then looped the other ends of the rope into some sort of weird configuration involving pulley blocks and a couple of tree trunks.

“Nice of you to join us, Rodney,” called the Major, his arms straining on the ropes as he fought the pull of the lake. “What do you call this? Rescue by Rube Goldberg?”

“If the first word is ‘rescue,’ does it matter what the other words are?”

One thing Aiden would say about the scientist: his ideas generally worked. The Major was almost completely free of the tar when one of the ropes snapped. The pulley block flung back and struck Sheppard in the temple. He fell forward in a boneless heap, landing through some stroke of luck on the shore.

“Crap!” Cursing, Aiden scrambled toward him. Of all the people in Dalera, this was the one they could least afford to have knocked out cold.

“Oh, of course he would have to go one better than me,” Rodney declared when they hauled the Major up, not quite covering a note of worry in his voice. “Tarred and concussed.”

“Save it.” Aiden lifted his CO’s pack and weapon. Yann and a second tar-coated man pulled the unconscious Sheppard’s arms across their shoulders and hurried up the slope to the village. This was going to be close. The smoke was getting thicker, they were currently leaderless, and any minute now, the Wraith retreating from the near side of the Citadel’s wall would be on them.